From Awful Announcing comes the above picture of Rick Reilly parading about with some young children in Detroit. Or Africa. Damn it, Blogger, can't you get strikethrough type? Also coming from that link is his new contract with the Worldwide Leader....5 years, $10 million.
$2 MILLION A YEAR FOR RICK F-ING REILLY?
Rick Reilly used to be decent. USED to be decent. Back in like, the 1990's, where he wrote a decent weekly single page bloggy type article at the back of each Sports Illustrated issue. I guess he'd write an article on something every now and then as well. However, in the past couple years before he took this massive contract from ESPN, Reilly had clearly been descending into suckdom. He was driving his own personal suck-colored Ferrari on the Suck Highway right into Suckcouver at over 150 sucks per hour. He's not good at writing anymore. Because he sucks.
And then he came out and made his disdain for bloggers known, with some fresh criticism to boot:
“I don’t really go on the blogs, because they don’t really like anybody,” he said. “Jesus could do a column and they’d be like, ‘What the hell is with the hair?’ It’ll always be something. Charles Barkley told me a long time ago always half the people are going to hate you and half the people are going to love you. If you suddenly change who you are, the other half will hate you. I don’t really care what people holding down couch springs do or say.”
OH SNAP! I'm not going to get into breaking that down too deeply, as the link has already taken care of it. But that's fresh. If criticism of blogs were urinals, Reilly would be the biggest Evergreen-scented urinal freshener that you could possibly piss on. He would smell like the fucking mountains. Funny that most bloggers actually, like, work in the day (because even people who can register a Blogger account have to eat) while Reilly sits on the couch springs to write inane articles for $2 mil a year. Actually, Reilly's couch is probably made of rare clouds.
Regardless, it is what it is. No one cares about bloggers and no one cares about Rick Reilly. There are more important things in the world, such as anything else. But, this opens Reilly up for criticism when he writes an article such as this one here that I wouldn't even write on the internet's worst blog. Seriously, if Reilly had a blog called "Baseball with Rick" or something and wrote this column as a blog post, it would get no comments. It's a joke. Normally I wouldn't care, but this motherfucker prides himself on being some kind of specially trained journalist, like he went through the fucking Navy Seals of writing about soccer.
It's been tougher than a $4.99 steak. Got chased by Dobermans eight times. Had to hire five different sticky-fingered third-graders. Broke into the wrong house twice.
But it's finally done. I've been able to retrieve every single MVP award that was wrongfully won by every single suspected 'roid ranger over the past 20 years. You can see them all shining on the table next to me. Got the stains off them and everything. Now I'm ready to give them to their rightful owners.
Ha! You broke into a bunch of houses to steal back MVP awards! And hired sticky-fingered third graders to do it! Tougher than a $5 steak. Others that didn't make the cut include hotter than a $5 pistol and gayer than a long, sexually confusing night at the center of a Shreveport bukkake circle. The premise of this article is about as promising as Dany Heatley's NASCAR career.
And why not? If Bud Selig can talk about giving Barry Bonds' phony-as-tofurkey home run record back to Hank Aaron, why can't we right all the wrongs of the Syringe Binge?
This just pisses me off. Phony-as-tofurkey is a $2 million analogy. I guess fake as a stripper's tits and synthetic as Castrol Syntec premium engine oil were taken? Fine, Rick. You win. Let's get into the random guessing.
Step up here, Mike Piazza. The late Ken Caminiti of the San Diego Padres stole your 1996 NL MVP, then admitted he was into more juice than Jack LaLanne. Yes, it's 13 years late, but the nameplate is new! And here's yours from 2001, Luis Gonzalez, after you finished behind The Barry Bonds Pharmacy. We won't even mention the home run title you would've won that year.
Sure, we'll just assume Piazza's clean.
But Gonzalez? Are you kidding me? We are assuming Luis Gonzalez's ridiculous 56 home run season in the midst of the steroid era was natural? Here's his player page. Hit over 30 HRs in only one other season, when he hit 31 the season before in 2000. But we're assuming he's good to go. That's a hell of a precedent to set for this article, Reilly.
Now, for the man of the night. I have a U-Haul of hardware here for Jose Alberto Pujols Alcántara of the St. Louis Cardinals. You already have two MVPs, Albert, and you're about to get three more, since Barry Bonds ripped you off worse than Bernie Madoff to win the award from 2002 to 2004.
$2 million analogy. Also, this subject matter has never been touched upon. Tainted MLB MVPs? Are you kidding me? This guy is just a visionary! No one can replicate Reilly. He's like the MF Doom of sportswriting.
You hit .335 and averaged 41 bombs those years and yet you finished second behind the clearly creaming Bonds in '02 and '03, and third behind Bonds and Adrian Beltre in '04.
Then why not give it to Beltre?
We're throwing out Beltre since, while he denies ever using PEDs, he fell off the face of the planet once baseball put in stricter steroid suspensions in 2005. If he wasn't cheating, I'm the Queen Mother.
Oh, really? Did you forget the Luis Gonzalez passage from above? Better get fitted for your dress.
Speaking of letting people down, Alex Rodriguez admitted last week he cheated like a Three-Card Monte dealer from 2001 to 2003 as a Texas Ranger.
After this, he broke down like Otis Redding's plane.
He was the AL MVP in '03, stealing it from then-Toronto Blue Jay Carlos Delgado, who finished second.
Again, we'll assume Delgado was clean, just like we would have for A-Rod had his name not been released in a pretty shady manner. Let me guess what's coming next...we're going to take an MVP award from a guy we guess was cheating and give to a guy we guess was not?
Just to recap: He cheated. He admitted it. He won the MVP. And yet the people who gave Rodriguez the award— the Baseball Writers' Association of America—decided last week that he could keep it. "It's [A-Rod's] award to do what he wants with," BBWAA secretary-treasurer Jack O'Connell told a reporter. "Listen, the wool was pulled over all our eyes. We had an election and those were the guys that won. The awards are theirs."
Thank God O'Connell isn't a judge. Yes, you admit you robbed the bank, but what the hell, why don't you go ahead and keep the cash? Buy yourself something nice.
No, fuckscraper. Thank God you are not a judge. "Yeah, we now know you robbed that bank, and we are going to retroactively imprison you for it using evidence that was not allowed at the time of your original trial even though this is illegal as hell and also nowhere near relevant to a baseball MVP discussion. NOW I'M GOING TO BANG MY GAVEL". Also, Reilly...the why don't you just go ahead and keep the cash, Mr. Bankrobber line? Gold. Pure gold. You are the Spandau Ballet of sportswriting, Rick.
"The awards are theirs"? What is the BBWAA motto: Tread on Us? Shame on O'Connell and every writer who agrees with him. These people let this whole Rage Age go down right in front of their notepads—left it up to Canseco to break the story—and now they're rewarding them? Coddlers.
Yes, douche. You have information on A-Rod that you should have on 103 different players, but their names haven't been released. So now you want to go back and retroactively strip people of awards and just give them to others who you assume are clean? Unless their name is Adrian Beltre, because you are the Queen Mother? You should be in charge of something important.
So step right up, Moises Alou, here's your MVP for 1998, when you finished behind Sammy Sosa and the Dubious Dinger, Mark McGwire. Here's yours for 2000, Frank Thomas. You were fleeced out of it by admitted 'roider Jason Giambi.
Prove to me that Sosa and McGwire used 'roids. Or that Moises Alou didn't. Or that Frank Thomas didn't. Or that Debbie Gibson isn't the most rockin' '80s singer around. I'm waiting.
There you go, gentlemen. Please accept our belated congratulations. And don't make us regret this later on.
Remember, we know sticky-fingered third-graders.
And that's it. Comedic brilliance. Revisiting one of your earlier lines. Sticky-fingered third-graders. That's absolutely hilarious. That's the million-dollar man, Rick DiBiase, with an article I wouldn't put on this blog if he paid me to do so. What a joke. Just like everything else Reilly has written in the past ten years.